


Contradictions

by shotabootyshorts (vegetables)



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Bottom Carl Grimes, Daddy Issues, Daddy Kink, Hand Jobs, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-14
Updated: 2018-06-14
Packaged: 2019-05-23 05:49:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14928333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vegetables/pseuds/shotabootyshorts
Summary: Carl isn’t afraid of Negan, but he’s certainly terrified of the intimacy.  It’s just another contradiction in their relationship.





	Contradictions

**Author's Note:**

> Always up for a chat [here](http://shota-bootyshorts.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr! c:

**Trust**

“It’d help,” Negan says, one day. “A little target practice. Not that shit you play in your room. Darts ain’t bullets, kid, and I don’t see you growin’ a new eye; so, by all accounts, I’d say you’re bullshitting yourself.”

Carl shifts against the pavement of Alexandria. The sun’s in his eye, bright from the open sky, and he squints at Negan before he lowers his hat and turns away. “That’s unnecessary,” he tells him. “I’m fine. My aim is fine.”

“Shit, it might be the goddamn apocalypse, but property value still means something! Last I checked, there’s about a hundred holes in that wall of yours. You lookin’ to carve a shortcut to Daddy’s room, so you can watch him screw his lady friend’s brains out?”

The amused laugh that erupts from Negan has Carl blanching. “Where the hell do you suppose I find the spare bullets _to_ target practice, considering you raided us of our guns _and_ ammunition?”

Negan does that _thing_ he does when he’s amused: He falls back, smiling, with a tilt of his head and an easy raise of his brows. The glint in his eyes is as recognizable as the subsequent mirth he uses in his voice.

“Thinkin’ I could lend ya’ some,” he ponders. “Then again, considering your history with threatening—oh, and _killing_ —my men, I’d say that ain’t worth the risk. Unless you were properly monitored.”

“I’ll pass.”

Negan extends his arm and clasps his hand around Carl’s shoulder. He squeezes, and he pulls Carl back enough to force his gaze. Resistance burns, brightly, in Carl’s eye. Negan likes that. There’s a lot about Carl he likes.

“One handgun. Your choice. Hell, I’ll give back the one we found on you. Box of bullets, too. Only one condition.”

Carl’s eye narrows. His words are steady. “And, what’s that?”

“I’m the one who monitors you.”

* * *

**Doubt**

Carl hasn’t forgotten about Glenn and Abraham. It’s a disgusting collision of images, heavy and vivid. Too easyto visualize. Even easier to _hear_. The raw, echoing crack of wood on skull; the _splatter_ of blood and guts, pouring out and flooding the dirt that dug into their knees on that endless night.

Each time his fingers wrap around Lucille’s worn handle, Carl thinks about them. He thinks about what it must’ve felt like to be on the other end of this bat. He thinks about how, were it possible, what both men would said, to him, now.

Carl hasn’t forgotten about Olivia and Spencer, and every other one of Negan’s victims. Carl doesn’t _want_ to forget. Even if, some days, it’d be easier.

He wouldn’t have to question his morality—as wounded and complicated as it has become—nor would he spend his days at the Sanctuary questioning why, each time Negan hands him Lucille to hold, the weapon is never once considered for retaliation.

Carl holds Lucille, now, with a tight grip; his other hand is curled into the chain link fence overlooking the walkers, who are impaled and mutilated (modified, Negan says) beyond recognition. Beside him, Negan is looking over drafts provided by Simon. The sketches look disorganized, but Negan hums his approval through each flip of the pages.

“How many men you got goin’?” Negan asks, and Simon gives an estimate. Carl is listening—of course he is—but, never once does he tear his eye away from the imprisoned walkers. “I’m takin’ the truck. Gotta bring the kid home. If I ain’t here when you get back, don’t concern yourself with it. Still scouting for that summer home, after all.”

Simon recollects the papers, and Carl knows the man is looking at him, now. He’s always looking at Carl. Evaluating him. Trying to decipher _what_ it is that Carl is thinking. The more disinterested Carl appears, the more difficult it is, for Simon, to figure him out.

Maybe Simon isn’t afraid of him, but he’s confused by him, and Carl figures being an enigma is better than nothing. 

“ _Ahem_.” Negan exaggerates his attempt to get Carl’s attention. He holds out a gloved palm, expectant, but Carl stares down for several seconds before he glances back up and transfers Lucille back into Negan’s possession. “Good boy.”

Carl scoffs and redirects his attention back to the morbid display of walkers beyond the fence. Familiarity flashes through his mind; a memory of the prison. They had greenery there, he remembers. It didn’t smell of rot and flesh.

“So much for bringing civilization back to others,” he murmurs.

Negan just smiles as he rests Lucille against his shoulder. “Damn, kid, you _do_ listen, to me.”

“That wasn’t a compliment,” Carl corrects, but it does nothing to discourage Negan’s satisfaction. 

Twin sets of boots crunch at the gravel as they move away from the fence and toward the back of the factory yard, where the Saviors keep most of the vehicles. The inquisitive—sometimes, distrustful—glances from Negan’s men are ignored by Carl, who climbs into the passenger seat of the red truck. It reeks of cigarettes and oil, but he’s used to it. Negan always uses this truck when he takes him back to Alexandria.

“You ever learn to drive?” Negan asks. He rolls down the window on the driver’s side and takes a moment to curse at some of his men, who are in the midst of an argument. When he looks back at Carl, the boy doesn’t have an answer. “No one ever taught’cha?”

“I’ve got it figured out,” he replies. 

Negan laughs and starts the engine. “That so?” 

“Michonne helped me. It’s not really that complicated.”

“Ain’t foolin’ me, kid. You don’t sound too confident. Remind me to give you a spin at the wheel, next time. Then, once you start to grow some hair, we can go over the shavin’ again.”

Negan reaches across to the passenger side and flicks at Carl’s chin with a teasing chuckle. It sends a startling pulsation through Carl’s chest, and he immediately shrinks away to focus on the window’s view.

“Shit, I like teachin’ you things,” he muses as they drive. “No shame in that—right?”

* * *

**Love**

It’s obvious, to Carl, what Negan’s wives represent. They’re beautiful. Glamorized. And, there’s an appeal there, something Carl never thought he’d understand but, somehow, does. They’re the perfect illusion against a broken world. Who would have thought a fantasy was so obtainable in this day and age? Finely pressed dresses. Jewelry and heels. Perfume.

_Perfume._

A comforting, gorgeous scent that Carl had forgotten until, one afternoon, Sherry walks by them. The scent tickles his nostrils, igniting a memory so lost and buried that Carl isn’t convinced, at first, is even real. But, he sees his mother at the mirror, preening and smiling and adjusting a gold necklace around her neck before she turns and asks Carl’s opinion.

When he stops, Negan’s arm, which is resting heavy on his shoulders, adjusts and urges the boy to begin moving, once more.

“We’ve got matters to discuss,” he reminds Carl, but he follows the boy’s gaze and smirks. The echo of Sherry’s heels can be heard, even after she turns the corner toward her bedroom. “Should I call her back over? Somethin’ you wanna tell my dear wife?”

“No.”

Carl begins to walk. Faster, this time, until they’re back in Negan’s room. Carl reaches for his hat, abandoned on the couch earlier in the day, and pulls it back down on his head.

Sherry has said less and less, to him, over the course of the weeks. Equated more, Carl thinks, to lowered expectations and not necessarily withdrawal. After all, Carl knows better than to mistake any of Negan’s wives as mere trophies; they’re not even completely indicative of the dictatorship Negan commands. They’re a distraction. It’s not crazy to think. Especially not when, the more Carl spends time with Negan, the less the man sees of his wives.

It’s not Carl’s intention. If anything, Negan’s sexual appetite might be the most humanizing part of him. Carl doesn’t care for the unsolicited details Negan provides, but he still listens. Still finds an odd fascination in how Negan speaks and anticipates a response.

There’s plenty of questions Carl could ask, even now.

_When was the last time you were with any of them? What was it like? What were you thinking about?_

“Do you love any of them?”

He doesn’t elaborate; but, of course, Negan understands. The older man brings in his lips and, for a moment, Carl believes he’s gone pensive. A second later, his lips curl, and he might be fighting the smile, but it’s there. Maybe even more infuriating in its current state.

“You jealous?” he asks.

Carl tenses and curtly responds: “No.”

It’s a test, then. Carl’s patience flickers when he watches Negan approach. His hips sway with a particular intent, and Negan brings his hands to Carl’s shoulders. They rest there— _warm_ —just before they brush against the boy’s neck. Carl doesn’t move; it’s an unnecessary fight.

Besides, it’s not completely unwelcome.

“Good,” Negan coos. He thumbs over Carl’s chin, admiring the smoothness of his skin and the way his mouth parts. His bottom lip quivers, but the boy still isn’t pulling away. Doesn’t even attempt. “There’s nothing to be jealous about. Damn, they don’t even get jealous of one another. So, if you’re not the jealous type—well, sounds, to me, like you’re meeting some requirements for personal participation.”

“I’m not interested in becoming your concubine,” Carl snaps.

“You proposin’ marriage, then, kiddo? Hell, I wouldn’t mind another wife.”

“No,” he repeats. Carl shoves away Negan’s arms, and the absence is immediate. “God, you’re weird.”

“Suit yourself.” Negan shrugs and moves past him. “I’m not the one complicating it, though.”

Carl hesitates. “It was just a _question_ ,” he says, stubbornly.

Marriage is supposed to mean love, even if it’s flawed. After all, his parents were always driven by love. Maggie and Glenn saw marriage as the first real step toward their new world. Somehow, out of all of Negan’s warped ideologies, his intent for polygamous marriage has Carl the most confounded. 

Maybe love means more, now, to Carl, than it did in the other world.

Maybe, to Negan, it simply means less.

* * *

**Hate**

Carl’s aim is better, now. Damn well near perfect after the months of target practice he’s performed under Negan’s careful watch. Carl is smug about it, _sure_ , but Negan goddamn gloats, and the strut in his step isn’t exclusive to the moments after they’re done with training. It transfers to the streets of Alexandria when Negan seeks out the boy who, just days earlier, had made him so proud.

Of course, Carl is already on watch, for him. It doesn’t unleash the already unnerving crisis that’s been brewing inside him because, right now, _everyone_ is on watch, for Negan. His visits are marked and carefully logged. The Saviors driving up to Alexandria’s gates has simply become another routine to their lives.

Rick has been tense all morning. They’ve scavenged every day since Negan’s last visit, and the offerings still won’t be enough. Carl finds odd comfort in the sound of Rick’s pacing boots against the porch, but he says nothing, even when his father turns, to him, and speaks.

“We’ll be back to rations, after this…” Rick briefly closes his eyes. “Half a year ago—Carl, we were thriving. That pantry was stocked. Seeing those empty shelves again is killin’ me.”

It’s small talk, at best. His father has been doing a lot of that, lately. Like he can’t decide what to say, or what he’s _allowed_ to say. Carl momentarily mourns that, eyeing his father with careful critique, before he hears a hearty whistle from down the street.

“Rick!” Negan chirps, all smiles with Lucille swung over his shoulder. “Not greeting me anymore? Hell of a rude way to treat a guest.”

Rick makes a move before Negan; he shifts, just the slightest, as though trying to block Carl from Negan’s view. But, when Negan starts to advance for the porch, Rick descends down the small steps and toward the man.

“Anything to say, for yourself?”

Carl hasn’t moved. With quiet contempt, he watches Negan bait his father. Carl knows it well. He knows what it feels like to stare back at that manic smirk. He knows the sensation in his chest that burns for a fight. There’s another emotion there. Something obscured, he thinks, that doesn’t align with the rest.

It hammers at him. It tortures him. It’s why, even now, he can’t tear his gaze from Negan.

“Well, _fuck_ , Rick, you ain’t speakin’, today?” Negan taunts. “That’s fine. Carl, come over here.”

Rick’s dismay at Carl’s obedience is, perhaps, misplaced. Rick knows what Negan’s punishments entail. But, even so, it doesn’t change the betrayal—how ever brief—that flashes through his father’s eyes.

“Your daddy been scavenging, for me?”

“You know he has,” Carl replies, sharply. “So, collect what you’re taking. Then, you can leave.”

Negan shakes his head. “Damn. You teachin’ your boy these rude manners, Rick? You’d think a father would have more _important_ things to teach his precious offspring. Like— _oh_ , I don’t know—maybe how to shoot with one eye?”

“You haven’t taught him _shit_ ,” Rick hisses, and his voice is shaking. “He’d be learnin’ just fine without—you.”

The gun in Carl’s holster feels heavier, suddenly. His fingers twitch, and Negan notices. He gives a loud laugh, throwing his head back and showing all his teeth.

“He’s a good shot,” Negan praises. “At least, he is, now. A real sharpshooter.”

“Don’t patronize him.”

“Rick, _Rick_ —maybe it’s _you_ who shouldn’t patronize him. Belittlin’ your boy’s efforts and all.” Negan tilts his head with a rehearsed bout of disappointment in both his gesture and his words. “Really, what I think Carl needs, here, is some praise from Daddy. Some encouragement. What do you think, Carl?”

 _Nothing_. Nothing he can articulate. Carl turns away and, ultimately, steps closer to his father.

“You’re not fooling anyone,” Rick seethes. “You only gave him that gun to get, to me. To make _yourself_ feel better.”

Negan’s brows furrow. “Feel better about what, exactly?” he asks. “Makin’ sure the boy doesn’t fuckin’ kill himself out there? Makin’ sure the boy knows how to defend himself? That ain’t anything but common sense. You really want your boy to be incompetent? Or, shit, maybe you do! Go runnin’ after him every time he does something stupid. Ought to keep him on a tighter leash, if that’s your thing.”

Rick’s defense is boiling over, ready to spill and burn, but it’s never heard. A deafening round of gunfire rings through the streets, and Rick doesn’t hesitate to run in its direction. Another needless casualty, Carl thinks. Undoubtedly one of their own. Someone who spoke out of line, someone who, perhaps, was tired of fighting.

“You good, kid?”

Negan’s expression isn’t what Carl predicts. It’s more reserved—a hint of curiosity—but, it’s missing just enough for the boy to be anything but good.

“Doesn’t matter,” he says.

* * *

**Admit**

Negan is confusing; but, he’s also addictive. Carl has no point of reference—not for this, not for the burning desire he’s convinced is consuming him. It was never like this with Enid. She was comfort and normalcy; Negan is _want_ and obsession.

The first time they kiss, Carl feels himself shatter. But, it’s not violent, and maybe he is broken but he’s also changed, and Carl chases the heat. They’re in Negan’s room, and Carl is pushing against the man—rough, frantic—and, Negan almost loses his footing before Carl has a chance to slip his tongue inside that hot mouth.

“Easy, kid,” Negan chides when he pulls away. He holds Carl by the shoulders, pushing him down when the boy’s boots connect with his own. Carl is straining himself, pushed tall on his tip-toes and looking up at Negan with urgency. “You gotta breathe.”

There’s an incredulous look that washes over Carl’s features. Negan laughs and cups the boy’s cheek with his gloveless hand. He’s panting, and his face is flushed. He’d be riddled with embarrassment, if he weren’t so desperate, right now. He wants to climb on top of Negan and demand everything from him. He wants to ask for things he doesn’t understand; he wants Negan to teach him.

“ _Please_.”

Carl advances and pulls at Negan’s open jacket. His knuckles brush against the white shirt, and, _God_ , there’s heat radiating from the man. It’s unlike anything Carl has ever felt before; he’s never physically _ached_ for another person’s touch.

“This really what you want?” Negan asks him. He gestures between them. “This? _Us_? You gotta be sure—’cause, kid, once I have you on that bed, it’s gonna be excruciatingly real. I’m gonna break in that tight, perky ass of yours and make it mine. I’m gonna shove my tongue so deep inside of you, get you all _wet_ , then you’re gonna beg for my cock, and there’s no turnin’ back from that, baby doll.”

“I don’t care.” There’s no hesitation in his response. There’s only a tremble in his knees, a twist in his stomach, a perverse twitch of his cock. “Negan, _come on_.”

Carl’s grip tightens on the leather, and Negan reaches to place his hands on either side of the boy’s thin form. He’s small— _so fucking small_ —and, his hipbones press into his palms as a stark reminder of his fragility. Negan licks his lips and catches the irritation in Carl’s eye. He’s practically shaking with impatience.

 _It’s confusing_.

He shouldn’t want this as much as he does; Carl shouldn’t yearn to be touched by a man who has murdered his friends, whose cruelty and violence has shaken everything his family was trying to build. It’s a horrendous complication, and Carl knows there has to be something wrong with him. He’s too broken to fix. His dissociation is tightly tangled and marred by each day he’s spent in this harrowed world of destruction and death.

He should be so ashamed of himself, he thinks. It’s wrong and it’s _betrayal_ ; but, the moment he’s on Negan’s bed, spread for display and devoured by the man’s touch, Carl decides he doesn’t care. He can’t care—not if he has _this_ , now. 

Stripped of his clothes, Carl’s breath catches at the very first touch. Negan is still half-dressed, jacketless, shirtless, but jeans loosened by the abandoned belt that Carl wishes he had undone. _Next time_ , he thinks, and he wonders how crazy it is to already be thinking that far ahead.

It’s over-stimulating, at first. Negan’s thumb brushes over the sticky head of Carl’s cock as his fingers wrap around the base. Careful and soft. An up and down motion that is perfectly paced. Carl never thought anything like this could feel so good. The embarrassment of his heavy breaths is soothed by Negan and the gentle sounds he hears from the man.

“Feel nice?” he asks, and Carl nods a little too quickly. “ _Good._ You deserve it, baby.”

Carl wants to ask why, to demand what he means. But, the opportunity is lost as Negan urges Carl to spread his legs wider. He’s leaking, _twitching_. Those beads of precome begin to slide down his cock until, finally, Negan leans down and swipes his tongue against the slit.

“Negan— _fuck_.” Carl grabs at the sheets beneath him and arches his back. “That feels— _so good_.”

“Mm.” Negan’s smile is wide and proud. He places a palm against one of Carl’s smooth thighs and watches as the goose bumps spread. “What do you want, baby? You want me to suck you off? Play with your little cock a while? Tell me.”

“I—I don’t know,” Carl whimpers back, and Negan must understand. Surely, he’s teasing him. How could Carl possibly know what he wants, what to say? “Just—Negan, _fuck_ , just touch me, goddammit.”

So, he does.

* * *

**Deny**

“He’s using you.”

Michonne’s voice is cold. Colder than Carl has heard in years. It paralyzes him for a long moment, and he stands in the kitchen, forgetting his intentions there, as he stares up at Michonne. Judith is cradled against her chest, asleep. It’s easier to look at Judith. She’s peaceful and calm, and she bears none of the scrutiny seen, now, on Michonne.

It isn’t judgment. And, it’s neither harsh, nor interrogative; but, Carl feels a pit in his stomach that twists and _burns_. This isn’t the conversation he wants. To be exposed to Michonne’s  perspicacity shapes the last several weeks into a reality he’s still trying to understand. Carl wonders when she figured it out. He wonders who else suspects.

Maybe that’s why Alexandria has felt so different, lately. It’s still his home, and it’s familiar, safe, but there’s a habitual madness to it, as well. There are days when he feels the walls closing in on them. Enid had felt it from the beginning. She had wanted to _get out_ , to make a difference somewhere, and Carl still doesn’t blame her. Has she found what she was looking for, at the Hilltop with Maggie? Or, is it the same there?

Somehow, at the Sanctuary, it’s not. Despite the grime and the colorless walls, there’s a strange allure. The Sanctuary offers something more, for him. Not the mantra that is pledged; but, certainly, _something_.

“It’s an arrangement,” he decides. Vague. Undeclared. “We have an arrangement.”

“There already was an arrangement,” she reminds him. “Your father had it under control.”

It’s harsher, then—her tone. She’s fighting back emotions, and that’s unusual, for Michonne. It hadn’t been unusual three, four years ago; but, it’s foreign, now. Michonne is holding herself the way she used to when they were at the prison. Guarded. Afraid. Afraid of letting her feelings show, and Carl never thought he’d see this side of her again.

“Michonne…”

“Carl,” she challenges. Michonne readjusts Judith’s weight, and his baby sister makes a noise, fidgets, before she settles against the woman. “What changed?”

“Nothing,” he lies. “I still want to fight. It isn’t over.”

“This isn’t fighting. It certainly isn’t winning. You’re not special, to him. You can’t change him.”

Carl perks with defense. “I never thought that. It’s not what you think. It’s—”

“—complicated?” she finishes, for him, and Carl doesn’t have a defense. Not for that. “You’re better than this, than him.”

Carl isn’t so sure of that anymore. He has a foolish heart and an addiction so unfulfilled, but he also knows he isn’t trapped. He wishes he could properly explain it all, to Michonne. He wishes it were his best friend standing before him, not the stranger from so long ago.

“You can’t change men like Negan,” Michonne reiterates. “Andrea couldn’t change… _him_.”

“This is different,” he insists, softly, and Michonne cuts him off again; this time, with a heavy hiss and a shake of her head.

“Oh, Carl,” she breathes; “how I wish you could see that it’s not.”

* * *

**Win**

It’s remarkably old fashioned. Strange, Carl thinks—but, even stranger, not surprising. Negan goes slow, and Negan is patient. He never makes the first move, though he’s never been afraid of touching Carl. He does it in front of Simon. He does it in front of Rick. Carl never responds. Not in public. But, behind closed doors, Carl latches onto Negan with fevered desperation.

He wants Negan. Negan is the most magnetically tangible desire to which Carl has ever succumbed, and it’s overwhelming to want so much from one person. Maybe he’s not looking for a change in the man, but he doesn’t need one. There’s still a sentimentality laced into Negan. There’s certainly still a beating heart. And, his duplicity, contrived as it may be, is only a small fraction of Carl’s compulsion.

“Sweetheart,” Negan breathes; “ _kid_ , you got me a hard as a fuckin’ brick. Don’t know how the _fuck_ I’m gonna keep this pace where it’s at, unless you do something. _Shit_ , I’m only human.”

Positioned on his knees, pulling at Negan’s belt and teasing his bound cock beneath the denim, Carl looks up at the man. His eye is heavy with lust, but Negan is too goddamn tempted by the kid’s lips to focus on much else. Plump and soft—Negan knows them well but not well enough on his cock.

“You could get this from any of them,” Carl reminds him. “I’m probably not very good.”

Negan runs his fingers through Carl’s hair. “You’re on your knees, here, for a reason. It’s your mouth I want, angel. You gonna use it, or not?”

Carl’s mouth goes agape, but he nods, compliant, before he reaches into the man’s jeans. Negan’s cock throbs, and it’s _hot_ and velvety on his skin. Carl has seen his dick plenty of times, by now. But, even as he pulls it out, he’s startled, once more, by the weight of it around his palm. It’s heavy, and it’s thick, and Carl’s thin fingers slide down the shaft with little understanding of what might feel good. The bedroom seems unnaturally quiet until Negan lets out a low hiss.

“Is this—?”

“Yeah, _fuck_ , kid, you’ve got it.”

Carl gives a few more strokes and quickly gains confidence. Negan’s breathing is ragged, and he’s got his hands on Carl’s shoulders like he’s trying to brace himself. The thought of Negan pushing _hard_ into his mouth, down his throat, excites Carl. He moans, even squirms against the carpeted floor, before he starts to stroke faster.

“I like when you twitch around my hand,” Carl explains. He pulls Negan’s cock more upright and takes a moment to appreciate the prominent vein running down the underside. A thin streak of precome falls over his fingertips. “You’re leaking, now…”

Negan laughs. “That surprise you?” he ponders. His hands begin to reposition themselves into Carl’s hair. “Now, you better get to work, baby doll, or I’m gonna start jerkin’ it myself.”

The first move is timid. Humorous, even. Carl laps his tongue directly up the shaft and gives a moan while he’s at it. Regardless, Negan groans. Watching Carl’s pink lips glide over the wet trail he leaves on his cock makes the older man’s entire body shiver. Carl’s no professional, but that’s the fucking _charm_ of it, right now. He’s learning. Being taught by Negan how to properly suck a cock.

“Little wider,” Negan encourages. He taps at Carl’s chin, and the boy closes his eye as he obeys. The vibration of Carl’s deep moan thrums through them both, and Negan swears he could come from that sensation alone. “That’s it. _Fuck_ , you look good like this, sunshine.”

Carl pulls off to catch his breath, and the noise is filthy. Wet, sloppy. His hand is quicker, this time, around Negan’s dick. He even gives a theatrical little groan that has Negan throwing his head back with delight. It’s difficult to hold back when Carl is down on his knees in front of him like this, lips swollen and glistening.

Negan reaches down and traces a line from Carl’s collarbone to his throat. He feels the boy swallow against his fingertips. “I wanna come down that pretty little throat,” he murmurs. “I wanna see you take all of it, baby. Think you can do that?”

“ _Yeah_ …”

His lips slide back over Negan’s cock. The man tastes bitter but salty, and the musk of his body excites Carl. It’s the smell of sex. Carl pushes, taking as much as he can until he feels Negan hitting the back of his throat. The stretch of his jaw starts to ease; then, he begins a real pace. Bobbing his head back and forth, taking more and more each time he buries that hot, thick cock into his mouth.

Heat pools within Negan. Fuck, he’s close. He threads through Carl’s messy hair until, all at once, those fingers are pulling at the boy’s bandage. Carl attempts to pull away— _not that_ —but, with a heated persuasion, Negan keeps him in place on his cock. The boy moans. Negan is sinking deeper inside his mouth as the binding unravels and drops. Panic fills Carl, but Negan brushes away the gauze and stares into that dark, dark void.

“Fuckin’ _beautiful_ , kid.”

Carl’s pulse bounds. When he looks up to acknowledge Negan, he’s caught by a brazenly poignant darkness; it’s beaten with spark and shine, and he realizes, then, how deep he has fallen. His good eye veils with an unrecognizable sensation, and he _breaks_. 

“Don’t cry, baby doll.” A large hand cradles Carl’s face, and Negan swipes away the tear that descends. “Daddy’s got’cha…”

* * *

**Lose**

A breeze washes through the moonlit room. The air is cold but undeniably refreshing after such a hot day and, by midnight, rain begins to gently pelt against the window sill. Carl rolls to one side of the bed, then the other. He’s spent half the night watching Negan sleep; but, tonight, he’s ultimately restless. It’s unusual for a night in Negan’s bedroom. Lately, it’s one of the few places where he’s used to a full night’s sleep.

When the rain picks up, Carl starts to climb out of bed. His legs are caught in the sheets, and it takes a little more effort than it should; but, once he swings his legs over the edge, his forearm is caught by a strong hold. Carl jumps.

“You leavin’, kid?” Negan asks. His eyes flicker open, then close, and he moves against the pillow, tiredly. “Pretty late.”

“No, just—the window,” he explains in a hushed voice. Negan doesn’t let go of his arm. “It’s raining.”

Negan groans and reaches to snake his arm around Carl’s waist. He pulls him back down on the bed, and Carl doesn’t fight. Negan’s body is all warmth, and it’s better than the blanket they were sharing. Another flight of wind heaves, and the curtains curl around the open window. Carl presses tighter against Negan and wraps his arms around him.

They don’t normally do this, although Carl is still trying to figure out why. It’s all him, he figures; Negan would probably love to lay in bed, cradling the younger boy in his arms. But, Carl likes to put distance between them, afterward. Carl isn’t afraid of Negan, but he’s certainly terrified of the intimacy. It’s just another contradiction in their relationship.

Their nights are frenzied lust and scattered emotions. Entwined limbs and sweating bodies, both famished for a real connection. Carl and Negan are drawn together with an ecstasy where nothing else matters. Not the war, the dead, the living and hurt; just _them_. It makes sex with Negan remarkably easy. Allowing the man into his body makes Carl feel alive. It’s a fair lucidity placed against Negan’s violence.

“What’s on your mind, sunshine?” Negan murmurs into the back of the boy’s neck.

Carl manages to find Negan’s hand and squeezes. “Don’t know,” he lies, and Negan can tell. He’s already told Negan about Michonne. Already told him about how everyone at Alexandria looks at him, now. “Just can’t sleep.”

“ _Hm_.” The last traces of sleep flicker away from Negan as he focuses more on the boy’s body against him. His fingertips start to cascade down Carl’s side. If he explores far enough down, he’ll feel the night’s passions stained between lithe, soft legs. “Must be exhausting—this whole back and forth thing you do. I’m talkin’ physically. Shit, emotionally I’m not gonna lecture you.”

Carl shifts his body against the man so that he can look at him. “What are you talking about?” he asks. The annoyance is clear in his tone, like he’s just been accused of something. “Back and forth?”

Even in the dark, Negan’s teeth are brightly visible as he folds his arms behind his head and laughs against the pillow. “Back and forth from Alexandria,” he explains. “Just sayin’, maybe it’s getting, to you.”

The deeper insinuation of that statement is remarkably prominent, to Carl. He doesn’t expect it. Not at this hour of the night. His heart twists, then quells at the defense he originally sought. It’s not impossible, he thinks. Carl still wishes he could change a lot. Maybe everything. But, he won’t ignore how the harsh events have flourished into an idyllic world that, in the dead of the night, is all their own. 

“They wouldn’t understand,” he says, quietly.

“It’s not particularly theirs to understand, y’know?” Negan muses. “Although, shit, it shouldn’t be that hard to grasp—not in this world.”

“I know,” Carl breathes, lips ajar; “but, I can’t. That doesn’t mean _this_ is any less.” 

“Funny how that works.” Negan laughs to himself. “ _Well_ , it’s what you want, kid. Not gonna hear me beggin’.”

“Right.”

They’re quiet, then, even with the rain. The moonlight flashes against Carl’s pale skin, and Negan moves his hand so that he’s back to grazing the boy’s thighs. Simple, Carl thinks; but, _God_ , it’s safe. There’s always a gesture from Negan, a look that inscribes the faith of Carl’s ideals, despite the deceptions and hate of everything foolish and ugly.

Carl knows he’s lost himself to this, knows he can’t turn away and ignore it any longer. He has to try to make it his own, no matter what that means.


End file.
